This was my third time in Dubai. And somehow it was different this time. I think this is for a number of reasons. One is just because I was exhausted from this past month, which has really taken it out of me. You know how sometimes you are really looking forward to a vacation and then once you get there you just break down and are too tired to really enjoy it. That was definitely part of it.
Another part was that Dubai is a place that can either fulfill your every expectation, or let them down. The first two times I went, I went with the idea that Dubai probably didn't merit all the hype, and I was prepared to be unimpressed. But I wasn't, so my lack of expectations couldn't help but be surpassed. This time, however, I went planning to have an action-packed and fantastically glam and romantic time. But as always in life, little things upset the plan, and I let the upset plan get the best of me. Minor car troubles, already booked restaurants, too many taxi drives because we couldn't get a seat outside. I was determined to drink and dine al fresco and was way to bummed because there wasn't any space.
Nevertheless, we did find a great new bar called QD in the Diera Golf Club (where there was space!). I know...I went to a bar in a golf club. But despite what you might think, it was classy yet casual. Crowded yet well-run. It was expensive but worth it for the ambiance and the stunning view.
But the lesson of the day is (all of which I already know but don't follow):
1) Don't get hung up on things not going your way.
2) Don't have high travel expectations.
and perhaps the most important thing:
3)Don't get so burned out that you can't even enjoy your vacations.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Midnight Hunting for Children
And so the saga continues. Only there are new players on the scene now.
Last night as we were falling asleep at 10:45, the doorbell rang again. More persistent than ever. I said to my husband that no adult (inshallah) would ring a doorbell so frantically. It had to be the children again. We dragged ourselves out of bed, just angry now. Opening the front door, we saw the boys (maybe aged 12 or 13) tearing off away from the house. This is just getting ridiculous, so George went to talk to the father. This father apparently only had a 1 year old, and sent us elsewhere...seemed true, but who knows?
So there we were, two angry Americans, in our pajamas (just boring old sweatpants) stomping through this barren neighborhood in search of naughty children and lenient parents. We walked the kilometer or so to the crazy children's house of the previous posts and I spoke to the mother who very nicely made me the sweets. Father was no where to be seen...work, the little girl says. Again, who knows?
She was pleasant, but somewhat shocked that HER boys would come in without being asked. I'm like.. Uh...you were there when he hit me, don't you think he would be capable of coming in without an invite??? But I didn't say that. I was politic.
So although we did not find the little monsters in question for tonight, she said she would spread the word that we are not cool with that. Or maybe she'll just spread the word that we're not cool...?
Who knows?
Do I sound a little disillusioned? No, I'm just tired. Too bad there aren't any trees in the yard. Then they could just quietly TP the house and let me sleep.
Off to Dubai this weekend for a much needed break!
ps: It's no fun trying to explain to a very traditional mother that her sons are bad in Arabic when I was almost asleep 10 minutes before. You should try it sometime.
Mothers vs. Children
Well, it's been almost a week since the original children fiasco/break-in, and several days since the boy hit me in front of his placid mother (who was giving me Omani treats to eat).
Of course this means that I have her plates. As per cultural rules in most societies, it's about time that I return the dishes with something sweet as well.
Helwiyat Amrikiya? Chocolate Chip Cookies? Banana bread? We'll see. I still feel weird engaging with them, but I don't see much choice. Do you? I want to be friendly, I really do, but the continuing inappropriate behavior of her posse of children leaves me unenthusiastic.
So I really have no choice though, seeing as I am indeed invading their neighborhood?
I guess I'm making cookies tonight...
Of course this means that I have her plates. As per cultural rules in most societies, it's about time that I return the dishes with something sweet as well.
Helwiyat Amrikiya? Chocolate Chip Cookies? Banana bread? We'll see. I still feel weird engaging with them, but I don't see much choice. Do you? I want to be friendly, I really do, but the continuing inappropriate behavior of her posse of children leaves me unenthusiastic.
So I really have no choice though, seeing as I am indeed invading their neighborhood?
I guess I'm making cookies tonight...
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Following Up on the Children
I've gotten a couple comments about my story on the children below. I totally agree. They know that they did something that they were not supposed to do. And, yes, I agree as well that they would never have dreamed of doing that to an Omani woman.
Yet...
Situations such as these put me in an awkward position. If I could just do things my way, I would have chewed out the kids and put them in their place, and probably not let them come in again until it had been made clear between their mother and me that that will not happen again.
However, children here, especially boys, are like royalty. I have been hit in the butt with a cannonball of mud thrown at me my a 10 year old boy in front of tens of fathers. What happened? Nothing. I yelled at the boy, also because he said "F**k you!" at the same time (probably his only words in English). The fathers were utterly passive and did not scold the boy and his friends at all. It was like it happened in a vacuum. This is not a lack of respect for women issue. That boy would have been slapped silly if it had been an Omani woman...that is, a traditionally dressed Omani woman.
Similar experience in a supermarket, but that time involving a very large Asian vegetable being used as a baseball bat. The mother thought it was cute that he tried to knock me out of the store.
So treating the children as I think I should in these circumstances leads to bad relations between their parents and myself. So where is the line? Do I not let them in the house? What do I do when the same boy hits me in front of his mother while she is giving me Omani sweets to eat, and she just smiles gently? I say "stop" and she says nothing. That's just plain awkward.
In any case it is difficult and takes a delicate knowledge of lines, boundaries, social mores, personal respect, etc. I haven't quite got it finessed yet.
The fact of the matter though is that where I live, my husband and I (especially me) are something of alien creatures. We are the only foreigners in the area and most of the people living there have never interacted with a Westerner before. I think to a large extent the children in particular really don't get that we are people too, and deserve respect as well.
Demanding that respect, however, often alienates and offends. Especially with limited Arabic abilities.
It's tough.
Yet...
Situations such as these put me in an awkward position. If I could just do things my way, I would have chewed out the kids and put them in their place, and probably not let them come in again until it had been made clear between their mother and me that that will not happen again.
However, children here, especially boys, are like royalty. I have been hit in the butt with a cannonball of mud thrown at me my a 10 year old boy in front of tens of fathers. What happened? Nothing. I yelled at the boy, also because he said "F**k you!" at the same time (probably his only words in English). The fathers were utterly passive and did not scold the boy and his friends at all. It was like it happened in a vacuum. This is not a lack of respect for women issue. That boy would have been slapped silly if it had been an Omani woman...that is, a traditionally dressed Omani woman.
Similar experience in a supermarket, but that time involving a very large Asian vegetable being used as a baseball bat. The mother thought it was cute that he tried to knock me out of the store.
So treating the children as I think I should in these circumstances leads to bad relations between their parents and myself. So where is the line? Do I not let them in the house? What do I do when the same boy hits me in front of his mother while she is giving me Omani sweets to eat, and she just smiles gently? I say "stop" and she says nothing. That's just plain awkward.
In any case it is difficult and takes a delicate knowledge of lines, boundaries, social mores, personal respect, etc. I haven't quite got it finessed yet.
The fact of the matter though is that where I live, my husband and I (especially me) are something of alien creatures. We are the only foreigners in the area and most of the people living there have never interacted with a Westerner before. I think to a large extent the children in particular really don't get that we are people too, and deserve respect as well.
Demanding that respect, however, often alienates and offends. Especially with limited Arabic abilities.
It's tough.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Yikes, Ambushed by Children!
Never have I been so intimidated by children. As you know, we live in a very isolated area. One night about a week ago, I was alone in the house watching a movie when I heard the doorbell ring. Women don't really go door to door here for anything, because of the high chance that a man will come to the door, so I didn't respond. I thought this time I would just avoid the embarrassing conversation that really wasn't supposed to be happening anyways between myself and one of our male neighbors.
Normal protocol here, as in most places, is if there is no response to the doorbell, you go away and come again another time. But the bell rang again.
Just as I thought whoever it was had gone away, there was a powerful knock at our front door. Our house's yard is enclosed by a gate. Inside that gate is considered private property, not to be entered unless invited in.
I was scared, because this was really weird. For a minute I thought maybe it was one of our friends telling me George got in a car accident or something. But then I remembered that everyone relevant had my phone number. These thoughts whizzed through my head as the knocking continued and got stronger. It was pounding at this point. I stood there terrified before the door, and watched the door knob turn. The door was locked but the person on the other side kept pushing down on the handle.
I snapped into defense mode. I was alone. George was too far away to be able to do anything. I crept up the stairs to peak out the upper window at whoever was fighting to get in below. Just as I looked over the window I heard a voice yell in Arabic "Open the door!" I froze, more out of surprise than fear. It was a child's voice. The three more shadows rushed into the yard. Also children.
I went back downstairs.
"Who are you?" I asked him.
"Saeed," he said, like I should know.
"Where do you live?"
"Over there"
"What's your mother's name?" I kept questioning through the door.
"Laila. Opened the door."
Laila... Laila.... I met a Laila yesterday while I was biking. It must be her children. Her evidently terrifyingly aggressive children.
I opened the door and the boy, who was the oldest of the posse of five at about 12 years old, grabbed my hand. "Salam aleykum."
"Aleykum as Salam." I said in a daze.
They stayed for about 10 minutes, giving themselves a tour of the house. Drinking water and trying to use my camera. I let them take a picture and I gave into taking a picture of them. I was exhausted and stunned. Never before have I been so ambushed by children. They were utterly insane and amazingly audacious. I finally managed to shuffle them out of the house.
I collapsed on the sofa.
Of course, I see these children often now. They come over almost every evening, but now I confine them to the yard. And yes I mean confine.
Seriously though? Who does that? Their mother, Laila, who I met again yesterday, is surprisingly placid and unassuming. She's making me Omani bread today.
Normal protocol here, as in most places, is if there is no response to the doorbell, you go away and come again another time. But the bell rang again.
Just as I thought whoever it was had gone away, there was a powerful knock at our front door. Our house's yard is enclosed by a gate. Inside that gate is considered private property, not to be entered unless invited in.
I was scared, because this was really weird. For a minute I thought maybe it was one of our friends telling me George got in a car accident or something. But then I remembered that everyone relevant had my phone number. These thoughts whizzed through my head as the knocking continued and got stronger. It was pounding at this point. I stood there terrified before the door, and watched the door knob turn. The door was locked but the person on the other side kept pushing down on the handle.
I snapped into defense mode. I was alone. George was too far away to be able to do anything. I crept up the stairs to peak out the upper window at whoever was fighting to get in below. Just as I looked over the window I heard a voice yell in Arabic "Open the door!" I froze, more out of surprise than fear. It was a child's voice. The three more shadows rushed into the yard. Also children.
I went back downstairs.
"Who are you?" I asked him.
"Saeed," he said, like I should know.
"Where do you live?"
"Over there"
"What's your mother's name?" I kept questioning through the door.
"Laila. Opened the door."
Laila... Laila.... I met a Laila yesterday while I was biking. It must be her children. Her evidently terrifyingly aggressive children.
I opened the door and the boy, who was the oldest of the posse of five at about 12 years old, grabbed my hand. "Salam aleykum."
"Aleykum as Salam." I said in a daze.
They stayed for about 10 minutes, giving themselves a tour of the house. Drinking water and trying to use my camera. I let them take a picture and I gave into taking a picture of them. I was exhausted and stunned. Never before have I been so ambushed by children. They were utterly insane and amazingly audacious. I finally managed to shuffle them out of the house.
I collapsed on the sofa.
Of course, I see these children often now. They come over almost every evening, but now I confine them to the yard. And yes I mean confine.
Seriously though? Who does that? Their mother, Laila, who I met again yesterday, is surprisingly placid and unassuming. She's making me Omani bread today.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
if you give a student a break...
We all know what happens when you give a mouse a cookie....
But what happens when you give a student a break? cut him some slack?
A lot of people here would say that the students in Oman have little to no sense of accountability, and that even if you are strict with them they still don't respect you. This is sometimes true. I agree even that this is perhaps more true here in Oman than in other parts of the world. However, I also think that the opposite is true. The students here are (in my opinion) more sensitive to small acts of kindness as well. They notice when you take the time to remember them and respect them. They notice when you give them a second chance. When you let them leave class early if they really are sick.
Just as some might say that this culture breeds irresponsibility in its young people, I would add that it also is a society in which making a mistake can be the end of your standing and respect within a group. Consequences can be severe for crossing any line that has been set.
In my experience my students have become more cooperative and more responsive when I have given them a break.
A girl today in one of my classes looked really sick and tired and was holding her head. She was clearly trying to stick it out out of fear of being marked absent. I said to her, "look, honey, just go back and rest. It's ok." She did leave and then came back an hour later (it is a 3 hour class), saying her headache was better and she wanted to come back.
I was impressed.
I think that's a human truth though. Trust someone, show them respect and kindness and they will almost always set up.
But what happens when you give a student a break? cut him some slack?
A lot of people here would say that the students in Oman have little to no sense of accountability, and that even if you are strict with them they still don't respect you. This is sometimes true. I agree even that this is perhaps more true here in Oman than in other parts of the world. However, I also think that the opposite is true. The students here are (in my opinion) more sensitive to small acts of kindness as well. They notice when you take the time to remember them and respect them. They notice when you give them a second chance. When you let them leave class early if they really are sick.
Just as some might say that this culture breeds irresponsibility in its young people, I would add that it also is a society in which making a mistake can be the end of your standing and respect within a group. Consequences can be severe for crossing any line that has been set.
In my experience my students have become more cooperative and more responsive when I have given them a break.
A girl today in one of my classes looked really sick and tired and was holding her head. She was clearly trying to stick it out out of fear of being marked absent. I said to her, "look, honey, just go back and rest. It's ok." She did leave and then came back an hour later (it is a 3 hour class), saying her headache was better and she wanted to come back.
I was impressed.
I think that's a human truth though. Trust someone, show them respect and kindness and they will almost always set up.
Being Nice To Crazies (and other people we gossip about)
As I've written before, this college is home to a rather remarkable number of people off their rockers. This year a much better and somehow much saner crowd has appeared from all corners of the earth, but nevertheless, the strangeness remains. I have to admit that being in this environment has turned me into quite the office gossip at times. I think just about everyone here would agree that it's some of the best entertainment around, seeing that work is intermittent, nobody really knows what's going on, and the students...well, who knows if they'll show up. So we really spend an embarrassing amount of time sitting around. Seeing who has the most comfy office chair. Guessing who's got a crush on who...juvenile?? (Let's leave that one unanswered.) And circulating rumors. Most of them are harmless, this is true, but nonetheless, it leads me to wonder if I'm really making this place any better.
I certainly don't want to get on any high horse of virtue...but in a place as dull and upside-down as it is here, does spreading the word of the day really make it any better?
Maybe it's better to just be nice to the crazies and keep my (our) mouth shut.
I certainly don't want to get on any high horse of virtue...but in a place as dull and upside-down as it is here, does spreading the word of the day really make it any better?
Maybe it's better to just be nice to the crazies and keep my (our) mouth shut.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)